Former Partners
by dog.spartacus
Summary: Post-ep for "Betrayal's Climax." Following the induction ceremony, Olivia has some time to think.
1. Absent Partner

A/N: I am continually disappointed by a certain notable absence from major events in other characters' lives. Until the writers correct it, I will correct it here. Short first chapter, but more to come.

Spoilers and References: Nothing major, but references from "Amaro's 180" and spoilers through "Betrayal's Climax"

And here, the obligatory disclaimer: these characters are _so_ not mine.

* * *

"Former Partners"

Nick saw. She was a detective, so she was discreet about it—but he was a detective too, and he saw. At first he thought it was because of Cassidy, then he thought it was because Fin and Rollins were walking out, but then he realized it wasn't that. It wasn't that at all. Olivia had known Cassidy wouldn't be there, and her glance didn't settle on their colleagues in the aisle. It swept the perimeter instead—only briefly—in the moment before she paused for the department photographer. The picture would seem to capture pride and honor when anyone looked at it later, but in person, even five rows back, Nick could see that the taut smile didn't remotely reach her eyes.

* * *

_I gave my whole life to NYPD, and I forgot to live my own._

She sits in the darkness of their apartment, Cragen's words of advice still swirling in her head after all these weeks. She hasn't changed yet, and her new cap sits on the coffee table in front of her, a reminder in the stillness of how similar things seem but how very, very different they really are.

She's waiting up for Brian, but it's a flimsy excuse because she really has no idea when—or if—he'll be home tonight. They've been on opposite schedules for months, and since he went undercover again for Tucker, she hasn't even heard from him. It's been four days.

Moving in together had felt like the right thing to do. Fiercely independent, she hadn't shared living space with another person since college. But, in all honesty, she knows that Lewis took more from her than she would ever let on, and among his unknown trophies was that piece of her identity. The longer she lived with Brian, the more she felt like she had been driven into cohabitation out of fear; the more like a victim she felt. Especially now, when she was wide awake, on high alert, well after midnight as she waited to see whether he would come home. When did she turn into a little lapdog, anxious to see its master?

_Take care of yourself._

Nick wasn't staying there either, anymore. And that was probably a good thing, because the last time Olivia had talked to Brian, it had been about Nick, and it certainly hadn't been pleasant.

"I'm going out on a limb here to guess that Amaro just doesn't have any other friends," Brian had said that morning before he left for the day, shoveling Nick's folded sheet and blanket from one end of the couch to the other so he could sit where he wanted to sit to tie his shoes. The tone in his voice was clear: he wanted Nick gone.

"He's my _partner_, Bri," she had replied, as if that should explain everything. And to any other NYPD brother, it would. But there was history here. Tension under the surface.

"Yeah? You in the habit of having sleepovers with your partner?" he asked. Finished with his shoes, he stood up and shrugged into his coat. "Hm? How many times Stabler stay over, huh, Liv? How many?"

She stopped fixing her breakfast to glare at him.

"Yeah, it's probably better you don't answer," he sneered, and then tugged the door open. "Tucker's got me on assignment today," he said over his shoulder. "Amaro better not be here when I get back." Then he was out the door, and Olivia hadn't talked to him since.

_You deserve it._

He hadn't come to the ceremony. Rationally, she knew he was working—or he said he was working—but that didn't change the fact that, emotionally, she really wanted him to be there. It was a moment she had wanted to share with someone she loved. Partners had each other's backs all the time, right? Shouldn't a romantic partner be the same way? She thought so, but she was so bad with relationships that she doubted herself sometimes.

She hated that doubt. She hated relying on him and being disappointed. She blamed herself when he didn't live up to her expectations, and she hated that, too.

_Take care of yourself..._

As she sits there in the dark, seconds ticking away on the clock they keep above the kitchen pass-through, she wonders what relationships are _supposed_ to be like. She really only had partnerships to compare them to. She always thought that, while they had their ups and downs, either partner should be willing to sacrifice for the other. Now she considers all that she has given up (her independence high on the list) and wonders what Brian would say if he tried to list his sacrifices, too.

She suspects that she isn't following Cragen's advice. Deep down, she knows she isn't. Because somehow, she feels more beat-up now than she had in all the years she'd been alone.

(But she hadn't really been alone, had she?)

_You deserve it_.

She's got her phone out before she can feel its weight in her hand. The screen lights up the entire room, and she's dialing without thinking about the hour or the consequences.

One long ring. Two.

She expects it to go to voicemail, and her breath catches when the ringing stops.

There is a pregnant silence, and then: "Olivia?"

Breathless, she tries to keep her voice level. "I need to see you."


	2. Present Partner

She's got a booth back in the corner and a cup of coffee in front of her. Her coat is still on, but she has hung up a knit hat and matching scarf on the coat hook mounted to the pole beside her seat. His sure step falters when he rounds the corner and sees her. She looks up. Time stops.

He pulls off his own hat and works it between his hands, watching her, waiting for a sign of what she wants him to do. Of course she wants him to join her. She tilts her head, pulls her lips into a flat smile, and he hastens to meet her at the table. Just as he slides in, their young, bearded waiter appears.

"Coffee also?" he asks.

"Yeah, that's fine."

The waiter vanishes as quickly as he'd appeared, and it's finally just the two of them.

"I'm sorry it's so late," Olivia says. "I didn't think you'd answer."

He quirks his head to the side. "Then why'd you call?"

She takes a breath and sighs, looks at him and tries so hard to smile. Instinctively, he reaches out and takes her hands.

"It doesn't matter," he says. "I'm glad you did."

"Well. I'm glad you answered." He squeezes her fingers in response, but they break their hold the moment the waiter arrives with a second mug and a steaming pot of coffee.

The younger man fills the new cup and tops off Olivia's. "You want food, you tell me, yes?" he says, mostly to Olivia, because this had been their entire exchange for the thirty-five minutes she had already been there.

"We're fine, thank you," she says with a sweet smile, her eyes fluttering closed in emphasis.

"Okay!" he responds, apparently dubious, but then he retreats again to the opposite end of the diner where the register is, where the menus need to be wiped and the silverware rolled, where an older man is glued to a small TV playing soccer highlights.

The smile had transformed her. "You look good, Liv," he offers softly once the waiter is gone.

"Elliot—"

"What, am I not allowed to say that?"

She gazes down at her coffee, at the tabletop, at her hands that he had just been holding, but she doesn't respond.

"I mean, we don't work together anymore, it's not harassment—" He cuts himself off and, grinning a little, waits for a reaction. There is none, so he backpedals. "Jeez, Liv, it's just what people say to each other—"

"Yeah, well, not us."

He looks away and holds his hands up in surrender. "I take it back."

The table grows quiet, and Elliot rolls his shoulders inside the jacket he still hasn't taken off. He takes an awkward sip of coffee, eyes shifting from one end of the table to the other. Anywhere but Olivia. "I'm sorry," she suddenly blurts, hiding her face with one hand. "There's been a lot of stress, and I—" She stops, looks up at him, and gives him a watery but genuine smile. "You look good, too, El." She blinks, swallows hard, and adds with a laugh, "You look really good."

He grins and finally settles into his seat.

* * *

An hour later, they have their coats off, and it's as easy as it once was. They had exchanged perfunctory texts at holidays and birthdays in the years since he left, but nothing personal. Nothing meaningful. She had started the trend after receiving his badge pin in the mail, but she figured that he needed his space and decided that she probably needed hers, so the messages they exchanged never went beyond standard greetings. Now, he's making up for all of that. He has his phone out, swiping through recent photos of Eli in the snow for her, and she's admiring how big he's gotten, remarking how much he looks like Dickie.

Elliot had told her about his new job, a position he had created for himself at the Archdiocese of New York, leading internal investigations and conducting background checks on the parochial schools' new and existing staff. As he explained it, it was a way to use his skills, a way to help known victims and protect potential ones, and he couldn't hurt anybody doing it. "I don't even carry a weapon," he'd said with a proud, easy smile. Olivia imagined that was why he did look as good as he did: he wasn't having to control his anger all the time, and he wasn't faced every day with choices that would haunt him.

"But what about you, hm?" he says now, placing his phone face-down at the far end of the table. "What has Detective Olivia Benson been up to?" he asks with a tiny glint in his eye.

"Well," she draws out, dangling her fork over the piece of pie Elliot had suggested they order to placate their waiter, "it's _Sergeant_ Olivia Benson now..."

He smiles warmly at her. "Congratulations," he says firmly.

She grins at him and works the fork through the pie. "Thank you. It's been official for a few weeks, but it still doesn't feel real. The ceremony was today." She takes a short breath through her nose and decides just to put the truth out there: "I wish you'd been there."

He expels all the air from his lungs, grits his teeth, and laces his fingers together before admitting: "I was."

She looks up at him instantly, the smile falling from her face. "What?"

"Yeah, I've still got friends on the job, and... well I heard you'd made sergeant, were getting sworn in, and... I couldn't miss that, you know?"

It's all she can do to blink at him. "I—I didn't see you," she stammers.

He lifts his eyebrows and looks away. "How we left things—how _I_ left things—I wasn't sure how you'd take it if I showed up."

"Elliot," she whispers because it's the loudest her voice will get right now.

"So I stood in the doorway, and when you went up to the stage, I ducked away so you wouldn't see me." Thinking about it now, he bites his lower lip and chuckles once. "Fin walked right by me, but he was talking to someone and didn't notice." He pauses, chances a look at her, and then can't take his eyes off her. "I'm so proud of you, Olivia."

For reasons she can't explain, her heart has picked up its pace. "Why were you there?"

He shrugs, glances away then back. "You're my partner," he says simply.

"_Former_ partner," she says, as if he's forgotten.

He hesitates. "Is there a difference?"

Suddenly it hits her. It bowls her over. She loves him.

He was the one she'd been looking for this morning.

Because he came, even when he thought she might not want to see him. Because he didn't _not_ come when she needed him to be there. Because he's always seen her as his partner, and apparently he always would. And, of course, he was right—there was no difference. Not with them.

He was how she took care of herself.

She reaches for his hand and grips it. "It means so much to me that you came."

He grins and, with his free hand, jabs his fork into their pie. "Wouldn't have missed it."

Her heart is racing again as her thumb runs along the ridges of his knuckles. She catches herself and stops, withdraws her hand quickly. "And tonight—all the way from Queens," she adds.

He shakes his head as he takes a bite of pie. "Hm-mm," he says around his fork. Mouth full, he manages, "Midtown."

"Where?" she asks, wondering what else would drag him out of the house so late at night.

He swallows and runs his tongue along his gums to clear them. "Murray Hill."

"What were you doing down there?" she asks, unable to curb the curiosity as she takes another bite of pie herself.

He sniffs, shrugs. "I live there," he says.

She cocks her head to the side and frowns at him.

"Kathy kept the house. We, uh, finally did it this time," he says uneasily. Then he holds up his left hand for her. She can't believe, with all of their uncharacteristic hand-touching tonight, that she missed it. But she did. His ring is gone.

"El, I don't know what to say..."

Again he shrugs. "It's been coming. It's been coming a long time." He grimaces. "Turns out, our problems had nothing to do with the job. We were two kids who made a mistake and tried to 'do the right thing.'" He sighs, but not in defeat. "And for twenty-five years, we did it. But when you strip it all down and you don't have the job to blame anymore, and you don't have four little kids to raise, and you wake up every day next to someone you just don't love... at that point, _stepping back_ is the right thing."

She flinches involuntarily. "Like you 'stepped back' from our partnership?" she asks, unable to look at him.

"NYPD," he says. She's still not looking at him, so he leans forwards and tries to catch her gaze. "Hey. I left NYPD," he rasps.

"Right," she whispers.

"Liv," he chokes. "You've gotta know—you and the job were never the same." He swallows hard and looks away from her. "I've always..." he starts, but he can't make himself finish. "Well, you were never _just_ the job to me," he says instead.

She smiles bleakly, trying to muster her strength and trying so hard not to cry about something that couldn't be changed.

He licks his lips. "I just wish you'd called me sooner."

"Phones work two ways, El," she says quietly.

"And you'd've answered?" he asks skeptically. "The way I left?" There is an endearing innocence in his doubt.

She rolls her head to the side and gazes down at the plate between them. "You've always been more than the job for me."


	3. Future Partner

She smiles now, reaching out to pull the plate closer to herself. There isn't much pie left, mostly crust, and she starts breaking it apart with her fork. "You know why I didn't, though, right?" she asks absently.

"What, call?" he grunts.

She nods.

He doesn't have the faintest idea. "I thought you were mad at me."

Olivia puts the fork down and looks at him. "I felt rejected. Like you didn't want me anymore," she says. She doesn't care if it sounds petty.

"My decision had nothing to do with you," he says quickly, hoping to reassure her.

"I know," she whispers, "and that hurt."

He blinks as he thinks about what she's said. "So, what changed?" he asks at last. "Why now?"

_I gave my whole life to NYPD, and I forgot to live my own._

She shifts as she tries to formulate an answer; he can see her thinking.

"I've been... reevaluating," she says. "There've been some things, recently, that have made me... question... my decisions."

He waits.

She rubs her face and sighs. "You know me better than anyone, El, even if I haven't seen you in three years. I just needed... to be grounded. You know?"

_Take care of yourself_. (And Elliot was how she took care of herself.)

He takes the final sip of his cold coffee, watching her over the rim of the mug.

"What decisions," he says. It's more of a demand than a question, because he's almost angry about whatever has made her doubt herself.

"Just... personal things."

"Liv, come on, we're partners—you can tell me," he says quickly, swiping her mug from in front of her and taking a drink from it, just for effect.

She rolls her eyes, but she's on the verge of smiling, and he can't help the complacent smirk that forms on his own face in response. "I just needed perspective, not advice," she tells him.

"Perspective on what?" he asks, his smug grin turning cheeky as he settles in his seat, spreading his arms over the back of the booth.

"It's really none of—you know, it's not even that important," she says, getting flustered by his behavior.

"_Something_ is, considering you called in the middle of the night," he teases.

"Fine. You can give me advice," she says, mostly to shut him up. She loves the ease of this old, familiar banter. She loves how effortlessly they shift both topic and mood, so she decides to give him a chance: with eyes cast away from him, she takes a breath, then half a breath more, and speaks. "When you're in... a relationship... are you supposed to feel like you're losing yourself?"

He brings his arms down and folds them over his chest. "I'm not sure the divorcee is your best authority on this," he jokes.

She sighs and puts her head in her hand.

"But no," he adds quietly, leaning forward a little. "I would say no. You should feel like you're finding yourself. Maybe for the first time ever."

Head still tilted against her palm, she looks up at him. Being with Elliot made her feel like herself. Made her feel found. In this moment, in this diner at three a.m., she feels normal for the first time since the ordeal with Lewis. She feels safe. Cared for. Partnered. And, despite the company, she feels independent. This is exactly what she has been missing. This. Or maybe him.

"Is this Cassidy we're talking about?" he asks so quietly that it really just sounds like a string of consonants.

"Your friends on the job know everything, huh?" she remarks, sitting upright, pulling away from him.

He shrugs casually, as if that's enough of an answer. "You know, I thought Cassidy was a one-time thing," he confesses then, almost a whine. "I thought... he was in the past. What happened, Olivia?"

Suddenly she feels uncomfortable, more uncomfortable than she used to whenever Elliot would grill her about a boyfriend. Maybe because she has begun to think about ending things with Brian, maybe because she has finally realized exactly what Elliot means to her, maybe because she has nearly voiced it, or maybe because Elliot's ring is gone and their rendezvous instantly felt more intimate once she noticed.

The moment is interrupted by their waiter refilling their coffees and asking whether they want anything else to eat. Elliot waves him off and returns to Olivia, who is now staring at the sugar caddy.

Elliot stifles a yawn, watches her for a moment, then turns away. "Why him?" he mutters to himself.

They are silent for a while. But when she evaluates everything and finally acknowledges that Elliot has always been her partner, even when NYPD said he wasn't, she decides to open up. "Truth is," she starts quietly, "I don't know." She feels a sudden chill and brings her hands to the bench seat to sit on them. "It was a mistake fifteen years ago, but it was a fun mistake." She shakes her head faintly. "Something clicked when we saw each other again, and... I don't know."

The expression on his face is pained when he looks at her again. "But you're happy?" he asks.

She winces. "I thought I was," she tells him.

Elliot's eyes darken, and a shadow of his old intensity washes over his features. "And now?" he asks. He's suddenly wound as tight as Olivia remembers him, and she can't shake the feeling that if Brian were to walk in at this moment, Elliot would pulverize him before he had a chance to say hello.

She closes her eyes, takes a fortifying breath. "That's what I'm trying to figure out."

A low, familiar growl rumbles in the space between them. Elliot clears his throat and sniffs. His jaw tenses, relaxes. "What can I do?" he asks soberly.

_Take care of yourself. You deserve it._

She almost bursts into tears right then.

When she gets herself together, she turns her focus to him and studies him. He's so sincere, so genuinely concerned. She searches for something to tell him because he's actually waiting for an answer and because, in all honesty, she wants him to be able to fix everything. She'll keep it light, though; she doesn't want to ask him for more than he's ready to give. "Just," she starts, her voice a little thick from her almost crying, "keep answering when I call."

"Always," he promises quickly. Then something lights up in his eyes and he playfully returns: "Just please keep calling." His smile and raised eyebrow afterwards feel like a challenge.

She meets it.

Relief tinges his resulting laugh.

"And maybe drive me home?" she suggests, mostly kidding.

"Would if I could," he laments with a sigh. "Took the subway."

But she's not ready to give him up yet. "Then walk me?" she asks shyly.

He flinches—perhaps wasn't expecting the request, perhaps wasn't expecting the tone—and nods. "Of course," he says. He bites back another yawn and watches her closely. "You ready now?"

She nods, Elliot grabs his phone from the end of the table, and they slide out of the booth, each stretching before they layer up against the cold. After Elliot pays at the register, they make their way into the frigid early morning air.

_Take care of yourself._

Outside, Olivia immediately takes his hand and laces their fingers together. Neither has gloves, though, so Elliot jams both their hands into his coat pocket to keep them warm, casting a quick glance her way to see if she minds. She only steps closer, and they walk on. Their progress together is slow, joined this way.

On the nine-block walk back, Olivia volunteers some of her apprehensions about Brian, without naming them as concerns. She shares the recent developments about Nick with Elliot, including Brian's hostility towards him. As best she can, with as few specifics as possible, she tries to tell her partner about the revelation she had before she picked up the phone to call him tonight. He nods, saying he understands. She suspects he does.

Part of her wants to tell Elliot about Lewis, but maybe this is not the time or place for it. When talking about mistakes she has made with Brian, she reflects on the decision to move in with him and says, "And something happened this summer that just... kind of..." and Elliot fiercely squeezes her hand in his pocket. So, he must know, she reasons. And they can talk about it later, if either needs to. She quiets, then, and neither says another word until they are outside her new building.

She slows. Realizing this must be their stop, Elliot turns and releases her hand. "Listen," he says quietly, his breath a haze between them. "When things calm down... or if they don't and you need some time away... all you have to do is call, okay?" He nods his head downtown then peers that way, as if he could see his own place, sixty blocks away. "I'm right there. Just say the word."

She gives him the best smile she can manage right now, forever on the verge of tears, it seems, then steps forward and pulls him into a tight embrace.

He returns it, and they clutch at each other's too-bulky coats, their cold fingers not fully finding the purchase they intend. But he holds her, and their heads rest against one another's. Into her ear, as they are about to part, he breathes, "Take care of yourself, partner."

_You deserve it._

Her tenuous resolve snaps. If Elliot was how she took care of herself, what exactly did she deserve? As they release one another, she grabs him again and spontaneously presses her lips to his. It's not really a kiss; neither was prepared, neither has moved, and if their breathing is any indication, both are terrified. In fact, it's so _not_ a kiss that her lips don't even catch on his when she pulls away, which she does after only a moment.

She thinks maybe—_maybe_—she can still salvage her dignity and escape into her building before they have to acknowledge what she just did and things become awkward between the recently-reunited former partners. Still wide-eyed, she begins to rotate away from him.

"Olivia?" he croaks, and she stops.

The tone in his voice is completely foreign to her. She thought she'd learned his every pitch in the time they worked together, but this one's altogether new. Despite her embarrassment, she dares to look at him.

He is standing much closer than she remembered, and his eyes are fixed on hers. In the same instant his gaze flicks away and back, his jaw tilts subtly up, and she has the most miraculous moment of clarity.

Neither one starts it, but suddenly there they are, heads together, eyes closed, lips tenderly tugging at the other's.

Her fingers ghost over his cheek as his hands attempt to grip her waist to pull her closer.

Elliot angles his head more, sliding his mouth along Olivia's bottom lip. "Yes," she breathes into him. Her hand travels to his neck and this is quickly becoming the most intimate experience Olivia has ever had. Never mind that their tongues have not yet touched, and they are far more than fully-clothed. She has never felt so profoundly connected to someone; she has truly never felt more like herself.

Olivia nips at Elliot's upper lip as he adjusts his position again and draws her in.

It is the sodium streetlight on the corner cycling off with an almost audible pop that finally jars them from their embrace. They each step back a marginal distance as their eyes open sleepily. Elliot's gaze roams across her face, down her neck, and eventually down and up her body. She feels herself flush under his scrutiny, imagining that he's planning other destinations for his mouth. Frankly, that's all she can think about right now, too.

_Take care of yourself_.

"So, uh, you'll call? Maybe?" he asks. He sounds dazed. His mouth has that incredible just-kissed look to it, and she is in awe of the fact that she's responsible.

_You deserve it_.

She bows her head before she can speak. It was meant to be a nod, but she didn't have the strength to pull her head back up. "Yeah," she wheezes.

He nods a couple of times, swallows hard, and huffs, "Well. Good night then."

"Yeah," she repeats. "Night," is all the more she can manage before she turns away and trudges up the steps to the door.

He watches her go, and once she's inside, he lingers for a moment before finally shoving his hands back into his coat pockets and making his way to the 1 Train.

* * *

Brian saw. She always insisted that nothing was going on—but years ago, she had insisted that about him, too, and now he'd seen. At first, he didn't even recognize them. He'd gotten home an hour earlier, fixed himself a sandwich, and had kicked through the living room, checking for any sign that Amaro might still be around. Finding none, he retreated to the bedroom and was surprised to find her gone. He showered, though, the filth associated with Tucker's most recent internal sting just too much for him to stand, then returned to the living room. Their windows faced onto the cross street, with a view of the intersection, and Brian just happened to glimpse them as they crossed it, strolling as if they hadn't a care in the world. Their arms appeared to be linked, her head on his shoulder, as they walked. He watched until they disappeared around the front of the building. He was furious. And though he knew she would deny it if he asked, he could clearly see, even five stories up, that she'd never given up her former partner.

_-fin-_

* * *

A/N: Thanks so much for reading and giving it a chance.


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